Runaway Sunshine
by ShinaV
Summary: B/J AU:Never, not in his entire life, did Justin Taylor think he would be a runaway. He knew what happened to runaways, but when Craig Taylor comes home violently drunk again, Justin knows that he can't stay home any longer. He soon finds himself in the company of Brian Kinney, who in return is captivated by Justin's bright, resilient nature and affectionately dubs him "Sunshine."
1. Leaving Home Behind

_disclaimer: I do not claim to own Queer As Folk of any of its characters._

_a/n: It's been a long time since I've written fan fiction, and I'm excited to be back. This is my first fic in the QAF universe (though it is an AU) and feedback would be much appreciated._

_thanks for reading,_

_- SHINA_

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ONE

Leaving Home Behind

"Justin!"

The slurring voice of Craig Taylor echoed up the narrow staircase, rage intertwining with each syllable. A clatter of feet clumsily mounting the stairs immediately followed. The footsteps, though irregular, grew louder and louder with Craig's approach. There was a hitch, a clatter, and the sound of shattering.

"Goddammit!"

Justin Taylor's eyes darted anxiously toward his bedroom door. There was not much time left now. He mentally reviewed the contents of his rucksack as he threw it over his shoulder. There were arts supplies: acrylic paint, charcoal, drawing paper, his sketchbooks, though he had no idea where or when he would get the chance to work. He had tightly folded two changes of clothes, one for painting and one slightly more formal. He packed two books: _The Catcher In the Rye_ and a book of Lewis Carroll poems, and he knew that inside that book of poems, was a black and white photograph of his mother, Jennifer, taken only a few weeks before she died. Wrapped in a rubber band were all the bills he could gather, mostly ones and fives, that all together with his loose change added up to be roughly forty-five dollars. He was terrified and nearly broke, but he was also desperate to get away.

Craig was a tyrant. He punished Justin mercilessly and without good reason. His childhood home had become nothing more than a place of turmoil, and though the thought of leaving had always been a fantasy to Justin, he had never quite been able to muster up the courage.

It was this night, however, after spending the better part of the evening in his bedroom, hiding away from Craig, that something inside Justin finally snapped. He didn't know where he would go, but he emptied out his school backpack, papers and books scattering across his tiny bedroom, and began filling the bag as quickly as he could. His heart raced, his hands shook, and he had to mutter quietly to himself to make sure he wasn't forgetting anything. He knew he would only be able to pack what he could carry with him, but somehow, this only seemed more liberating.

Everything was going smoothly, until Justin in his haste accidentally knocked the water glass he used for painting and sent it tumbling to the floor with a brilliant shatter. The sound had roused Craig immediately, as though he had been waiting for it, and his approach had quickly ensued.

With no lock to catch it, the doorknob twisted easily, and the door swung open. Craig lingered silhouetted in its frame, a menacing silence all he brought with him. Justin rushed then toward the window, the only exit left for his escape.

"And just where the hell do you think you're going?" Craig's voice was low and cool, like distant thunder.

Having undone the latch, Justin tried to lift the window open, but it must not have been opened in years. It wouldn't budge.

"HEY! I asked you a question, you little _fuck_, and you'll answer me when I'm talking to you."

Craig then pulled Justin back by the fabric of his backpack, sending him reeling backward toward the hardwood floor. He stood over his son, eyes narrowed, but Justin had learned better than to answer. He was certain Craig wouldn't like anything he had to say.

His silence was rewarded with a strike across the face, and when that did nothing, Craig progressed to a kick in the ribs. Tears welled up in Justin's eyes as he absorbed the almost insurmountable pain.

"What? Are you going to cry now, little faggot? Go on then. _Cry_. I'm sure your mother would be proud."

That was it. Justin relinquished his passive responses and quickly leapt up, grabbing a shocked Craig by the lapel of his shirt, and shoving him back against the wall. The time he earned wasn't much, but it was enough to get out of his bedroom and halfway down the stairs before he heard his father once again on his feet and following close behind.

Justin reached the front door and felt Craig's fingers brush his arm, attempting to grab his wrist. Quickly, Justin slammed the door, as hard as he could, catching Craig's fingers in the frame with a sickening _crack._

He did not look back as his father bellowed out cries of pain, cursing Justin, but instead, sprinted as he never had before into the cool September night.

Justin slowed his pace as he reached a metro bus stop at the end of his subdivision, watching the late-night bus approach. The advertising wrap read '_Liberty Avenue: Be free. Be you.' _against the silhouette of two men embracing over a rainbow-striped background. Justin knew then exactly where he would go, exactly where he wanted to be.

…

"What can I get'cha, honey?"

Startled out of his reverie, Justin looked up into the face of the waitress looming over him. He was unsure how long he had been staring at the menu for the Liberty Diner, but he was sure it was long enough to have made a decision.

The waitress smacked her gum dully, one hand on her hip and the other holding a tray just over her shoulder. Her eyes were glazed, but she smiled weakly at him.

"Oh, I'm sorry, um — could I um —…?"

He started again when her tray clattered onto the table and she dropped into the seat opposite him with and deep sigh.

"You don't mind, do ya, honey? Been here since eight this morning and my feet are killing me."

She chuckled lightly and her blue eyes illuminated with the sound. Justin examined her then. Her hair was curly and unkempt, an unnatural shade of red, and despite its short length, she had bundled sections of it together in colorful scrunchies, like a pigtail on each side of her head. She wore a vest littered with colorful buttons of various sizes, all stating her opinions on everything from gay politics to grilled cheese, and under it, a t-shirt which read, '_I _heart_ boys who _heart_ other boys.' _Her name tag read Debbie. Justin liked her already.

"I should be serving you." Justin offered, taking notice of her clear exhaustion. He checked his watch. It was after midnight.

Debbie guffawed then. "No thanks, sweetie. I'm not interested in _your _kind of service, but it's sweet of you to even consider a worn out old thing like me."

She patted his hand, and her rainbow bangles clinked together.

Justin blinked, "What do you mean?"

Debbie raised an knowing eyebrow. "C'mon, Sunshine. I know what the boys your age who come in this time of night are up to."

"What are you talk—…?"

But he was interrupted by the tinkling of the bell over the Liberty Diner's entrance and Debbie's exuberant cry of, "Hey there, boys!"

Justin looked up and was struck instantly by the tall, slender figure in the doorway. The man was lean, but muscular, and wore a sleeveless black button-down paired with tight black jeans. His lithe body gave his movement grace. He was brunette, maybe late twenties, and he stared shamelessly back at Justin.

The brunette's friends beckoned him into their booth and after a brief pause, he joined them just as Debbie came to take their order. They were all clearly familiar with the waitress.

"You boys look like you've had quite the night! What can I get for ya'?"

Justin could feel the eyes still following him as he tried to awkwardly occupy himself with charcoal and drawing paper from his rucksack. He had drawn the angular jaw and sharp eyes before he caught himself, and he blushed at how intensely even the eyes in his drawing stared back at him.

"Can I have a look?"

Justin's head jerked up in response. There was the tall brunette, one hand on the table, leaning into Justin with a casual closeness. He smelled amazing.

"C'mon Brian," one friend whined from behind him. He looked especially plain in comparison, like a typical boy-next-door. "We just got here!"

Brian ignored him and instead seated himself across from Justin. He raised an eyebrow and breathed in a smooth, husky voice, "You mind?"

Justin gulped, and shaking his head seemed to be all he could manage.

"Oh, Brian," Debbie called with what was clearly false sweetness. She was filling water glasses at the counter, and she did not look at him.

Brian cocked his head to the side, hands folded neatly on the table, and he did not quite look at Debbie. The pose was slightly threatening.

"Sunshine there is a real sweetheart. Mess with him and I'll serve your balls up for the Pink Plate special, got it?"

"Not to worry, Deb. _Sunshine _couldn't be in better hands."

Brian then nodded to the page Justin was now hiding under the table.

"Let me see."

Cautiously, Justin pulled the drawing from his lap and handed it to Brian.

Brian smirked and ran his fingers along Justin's hands as he took the paper from him. Justin went crimson. An electric pulse shot through him. His eyes darted up to Brian's and they were hazel and bright, pouring into Justin some secret energy he could not quite understand.

"This isn't half bad, Sunshine."

Justin couldn't help but grin in pleasure.

"Do you have more?"

He was more eager this time as he handed Brian a sketchbook from his bag. Brian, flipped through, nodding in approval.

"Your style is very Anthony Ryder."

"Holy shit!" Justin laughed. "I think you're the first person in Pittsburgh I've met who even knows Ryder's work!"

Brian shrugged, "My friend Lindsay is an art teacher. She regularly drags me to gallery openings and such. Plus, I took a few art courses in college."

Justin could feel himself lighting up, "Really? Where did you go? What did you study?"

Brian glanced up and seemed to take in Justin's new and more animated demeanor. If there was anything that would bring Justin out of his shell, it was art.

"Carnegie Mellon. Advertising."

"No shit? I wanna go to SAIC or maybe PIFA."

As he came to the end of the book, Brian handed it back to Justin.

"How old are you?"

Justin suddenly grew suspicious. His eyes narrowed slightly. He wondered if Brian knew just how young he was, if that would be the end of their conversation. He also knew, that Craig would have called the police by now, and anyone they interrogated, they would be asking for a seventeen year old.

"Does it matter?"

It wasn't necessarily the best response, but it was the first Justin could think of.

Brian, who had reached over to take a sip of Justin's coffee, sputtered in surprise.

"Spoken like a true man of the night. But in answer to your question, Sunshine. No, not to me." He glanced up through his lashes and added, "Within reason."

He then held Justin's mug out to Debbie.

"Deb! This shit is like icy piss. Get Sunshine a fresh cup, will you? On me."

"Hold on a second," Justin cried, holding up his hands defensively. "Do you all think I'm a _hustler?_"

Brian blinked at him, but said nothing.

Debbie called from the counter where she was brewing a new pot of coffee, "You mean, you're not?"

"Of course not!"

Justin was surprised to see Brian lean back and smirk. He simply said, "Good to know," but remained seated. He seemed to be contemplating something.

There was a brief pause as Debbie brought over Justin's coffee, along with two lemon bars murmuring a little ashamedly, "On the house, sweetheart."

"So do you have a job?" Brian inquired suddenly.

Justin coughed a little on his bite of lemon bar, and took a sip of coffee. He wheezed, "What?"

"A _job_. Jeez, sonny-boy."

_"_No."

"How much for the drawing then, the one of me?"

Justin shrugged. "I don't know. You can just have it I guess."

Brian reared back, "Don't be a twat, of course I can't. Now, how much?"

Justin shrugged again. "Twenty?"

"I'll make it fifty."

"But that's too much!"

Brian pulled a bill from his wallet and held it out to Justin.

"Take the god-damned money, Sunshine."

Pocketing the bill gratefully, Justin murmured, "Thanks."

"Thanks is bullshit."

"Sorry."

"Sorry's bullshit, too. You did good work and earned money for it. Never apologize for that."

Their eyes met for a while and an unspoken exchange passed between them. Brian knew. He had to know that Justin was a runaway.

"Well, regardless if it's bullshit or not, thank you."

Brian nodded vaguely.

"Brian, are you coming back?" It was the same friend from before.

Justin realized this boy-next-door guy had been watching them both anxiously ever since Brian and come over to Justin's table.

"Your friends are waiting for you."

Without missing a beat, Brian ignored this last comment and asked,"You have somewhere to be tonight, Sunshine?"

"Not really, no."

"I can change that."

Justin blinked in surprise. He paused, waiting for the punchline.

At last, he exclaimed, "Oh, shit, are you actually trying to pick me up?_"_

Brian coughed a snicker and the sound of it tightened the muscles in Justin's stomach.

Sex was something other people did, not him, not Justin, and certainly not with this tall, dark _predator._

"Come _on, _Brian! There's no room for your boy-toy tonight."

With a roll of his eyes, Brian whirled around and groaned, "Will you_ fuck off, _Michael!"

In response, his friend seemed irritated, but not abashed. He fell silent, nonetheless.

Justin gazed at Brian for a moment before saying, "You don't even know me."

"Yeah, but by the end of the night, I intend to."

…

It was about half past one a.m. when Brian and Justin exited the diner, and they were followed by the rest of Brian's party, as well as Debbie, whose shift had just ended.

"So do people always do what you tell them?" Justin inquired as he followed Brian down the sidewalk.

"Usually," Brian replied. "It comes in handy when you run a business."

"What business?"

"Kinnetic. It's an advertising agency."

Justin raised an eyebrow. "Impressive. You seem kind of young to have your own agency. How old are you?"

"_Does it matter?"_

Justin blushed a little.

Brian moved forward. "How would you like to come work for me?"

"Are you kidding me?"

"I never fuck around when it comes to business. Like I said. You're work is good. Our art department could use some real talent."

"Wow. Shit. I really don't know what to say."

"You could try 'thank you' for starters since you seem to be so fond of the phrase."

"Yeah, thanks!" and Justin was suddenly beaming. "Really. You don't know what this means to me."

He reached out to touch Brian's arm, but decided against it.

He tried another tactic, "So do you live close by?"

"Close enough. Why is walking too much for you?"

It wasn't mocking. It seemed to be a genuine question.

"No, I'm fine!"

Brian wasn't buying it. He got to the street corner and dialed a number on his cell phone, giving their location to whomever was on the other line. He confirmed something in their response and hung up promptly.

"What was that?" Justin asked.

Brian turned to him, "I called us a cab. My place can be walking distance from here, but it's a long walk, and I'm tired."

They stood for a few minutes in silence, before Justin finally spoke.

"Do you always do that?"

"Do what?"

"Hide your kindness behind a facade of selfishness."

Brian gave him a tight smile. "How poetic. No, Sunshine, the fact of the matter is I'm a selfish asshole who would like nothing more than to take you home right now and fuck your brains out."

Justin felt that same electricity run through him.

"So, I guess you really are expecting sex then." His voice was tight in his throat.

Brian eyed him and seemed genuinely surprised by Justin's tone.

"Well, shit, Sunshine, I'm not forcing you into anything."

"But — I mean …"

"Look, no need to bang for roof. You can just crash at my place tonight if that's all you want."

Justin turned to face Brian, full on. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

And he could see there was an answer there, but he could also see that Brian wasn't planning on sharing it.

"I don't require sex in exchange for decent human behavior. Well, sometimes."

"Ah, I see." It was Justin's turn to smirk.

Brian was looking at Justin's lips. "But I am always willing to participate."

He leaned in, his face just inches from Justin's. Brian's scent overwhelmed Justin and he found his body tightening in response to him, orienting itself around him. They were so close.

But before the distance between them could be filled, a voice from close by called out.

"Justin? Justin Taylor?"


	2. Jim Beam Drunk

a/n: Okay, yes. I revised two chapters on the same day I posted one of them. Nothing major has changed, but they're certainly better written now, I definitely encourage you to go back and read. If not though, you won't be confused as the story progresses.

* * *

a/n:_Hello all! I'm sorry it's taken me so long to update. I usually update pretty regularly. Not only have I been out of town for the last couple of weeks and without internet __access, but also, I wrote chapters two and three, but didn't like the direction the story was going. So, I rewrote chapter two and am liking things much better. I think you will too. Maybe at the end I'll add a note and tell you guys where I was going. I think you'll agree with the changes._

_I'll try to post chapter three later tonight or early tomorrow since it took me so long to update this time._

_Feedback is greatly appreciated and helps me write a better story for you!_

_Enjoy!_

- SHINA

* * *

TWO

"Brian."

The bartender leaned over, catching Brian's attention, handing him another Jim Beam, no ice.

"Thanks, Steve. To whom do I owe the pleasure this time?"

Steve said nothing, but pointed to the end of the bar where a pumped up princess with no neck and a netted top gave Brian a wink and a wry smile.

'_Jeez, does this guy work out or just swallow the gym equipment whole_?'

Brian Kinney's night had been utter shit. He'd spent the better part of his evening at Babylon, scanning the faces of the crowd, all exactly the same as the night before. The lights flashed brilliant color. Music thumped repetitive techno beats. Everyone danced. No one was new. No one was interesting.

He glanced over his shoulder and offered casually, "Hey Todd, how's it going?"

"Fine."

"Isn't there anyone decent in this town left to fuck?" He sighed to Michael over the of the thumping music.

Michael shook his head, also examining the crowd. "You've fucked them all already. Why don't you just pick someone. Let him suck you off, and you and I can go dance."

"I don't do sloppy-seconds."

"Dammit, Brian, your one-fuck-only policy is really starting to— "

"Brian."

It was Steve with another Jim Beam. This time a generic blonde waved at him.

"Fuck, looks like all I'm getting tonight is shit-faced."

Just then two of Michael's friends, Ted and Emmett, stepped up from the dance floor to join Michael and Brian at the bar.

"I think I'm ready to head home. I've had a long day."

Michael frowned, "Come on, Teddy, it's early! You didn't even take the chance to unwind. Look at you! You're still buttoned up like a nun."

"He's right, sweetie," Emmett interjected, "_Accountant_ is not a good look for the club."

"Oh, so dressing like the tooth-fairy is?" Ted gestured toward Emmett's various sparkles and sequins. "Worry about yourself and lay off me, will you?"

Ted then rolled into some boring explanation about having to work late, but Brian was just a little too drunk to pay much attention. In truth, though Brian tolerated Ted and Emmett for Michael's sake, he didn't have much patience for their quirks.

"Let's go get something to eat." He interrupted.

Michael's attention immediately shifted back to Brian. Ted didn't look surprised in the least. He simply stopped talking. This was the norm when Brian was around.

"Sure." Michael answered eagerly. "Diner? Ma's working tonight."

…

Brian was the last to enter the Liberty Diner out of his party. As Michael completed another impression of the homophobic co-worker he called "Fat Marley," he and his friends laughed uproariously. Brian however found himself instantly distracted by the agonizingly lovely blonde with petal-like lips and a glowing complexion, full of youth, seated in the corner booth. He looked up, his cool blue eyes meeting Brian's fleetingly before looking away nervously.

Brian slid into the booth beside Michael, but couldn't seem to tear his eyes away. He was drawing something, intensely focused, Brian marveled at the complexity of thought apparent on the young man's face. He was glowing, clearly in his element, though Brian could not see what it was he saw. His curiosity got the better of him and he came to his feet and crossed to the artist's table.

"Can I have a look?"

The blonde jumped and Brian felt almost sorry. He seemed so fragile suddenly. When he looked up, Brian noticed a red welt on his cheek and wondered just who would hit such a mild mannered kid.

"C'mon Brian, we just got here!"

Brian had long since learned to tune out Michael's whining.

"You mind?"

It seemed only right to ask, seeing as how the kid was so jumpy.

He simply nodded in response.

"Oh, Brian."

It was Debbie. Brian knew that sickeningly sweet tone. He knew it well enough to know what it meant. It was a warning. He tilted his head in agitation and laced his fingers together to keep his hands from clenching into fists.

"Sunshine there is a real sweetheart. Mess with him and I'll serve your balls up for the Pink Plate special, got it?"

"Not to worry, Deb. Sunshine couldn't be in better hands."

He turned back to 'Sunshine.'

"Let me see."

And as Brian took the drawing from him, he purposely allowed his fingers to caress the younger man's. Sunshine's face reddened, and he looked up at Brian. As the blush faded, he seemed to return to his original golden glow. Brian basked in his aura briefly, before channeling his energy back into him. Surely this kid must know the kind of effect he had. He was brilliant. Brian hadn't wanted a guy this much in quite some time.

He looked at his own face, etched into the page by charcoal. Somehow this Sunshine had implemented his own bright air into the portrait. Brian appeared luminous rather than drunk and horny.

"This isn't half bad, Sunshine. Do you have more?"

The blonde handed him a sketchbook, and Brian began to flip through it. The drawings were fantastic, almost every page was a figure study, soft, but the line work still apparent in a faint texture. The figures were fluid, yet suspended.

"Your style is very Anthony Ryder."

Brian could not have lit this kid up any more easily if he had found a switch. His face burst into a beaming smile. He laughed and it was golden.

"Holy shit! I think you're the first person in Pittsburgh I've met who even knows Ryder's work!"

Brian explained about Lindsay's incessant need to involve him in '_a different culture'_ as she called it. He also mentioned the Art Appreciation courses he took back in college.

"I wanna go to SAIC or maybe PIFA."

How old was this kid? It did no good to ask because his eyes just narrowed and he gave an odd answer.

"Does it matter?"

Brian had to laugh at this, even with a mouth full of coffee.

"Spoken like a true man of the night. But in answer to your question, Sunshine. No, not to me. Deb! This shit is like icy piss. Get Sunshine a fresh cup, will you? On me."

"Hold on a second," Sunshine was suddenly frantic. "Do you all think I'm a hustler?"

Brian blinked at him. He was so naive. Of course Brian had thought it was possible, but not likely. Debbie however, was totally thrown and even brought over lemon bars as an apology. But what else would a kid his age be doing alone at this time of night, hauling around a god-awful amount of shit.

That's when Brian's drunk brain finally caught up. Of course, how could he have missed it? This kid was a runaway.

"So do you have a job?"

"What?"

"A job. Jeez, sonny-boy."

"No."

Brian paid him for the drawing. It was the least he could do. God, why was he always so god-damned fucking _nice _when he'd had too much whiskey? He was Jim Beam drunk. That's all this was.

"You're friends are waiting for you."

Brian ignored this and decided to try again. There had to be a way to get past this kid's naiveté and get him into bed.

"You have somewhere to be tonight, Sunshine?"

"Not really, no."

"I can change that."

The kid only looked at him before finally exclaiming out, "Oh, shit, are you actually trying to pick me up?"

Again, Brian had to laugh. Sunshine looked so bewildered. Had anyone ever hit on him before? Certainly not that he realized.

"Come on, Brian! There's no room for your boy-toy tonight."

"Will you_ fuck off_, Michael!"

Brian turned back to Sunshine

"You don't even know me."

"Yeah, but by the end of the night, I intend to."

…

The entire entourage, including Debbie had made their way out of the diner. Brian was only vaguely aware that the others were leaving. His body was screaming at him to get this 'Sunshine' back to the loft and fuck him into oblivion.

Maybe it was the kid's genuine good nature, or his naiveté, but something about him made Brian feel as though he should take his time with this one.

The two of them had some light banter concerning whether or not Brian was, in fact, actually offering him a job, as well as the vague possibility of sex. All seemed to be going fairly well until he stopped and got a good look at Sunshine. He looked absolutely exhausted.

Before Brian knew it, he had called a cab to take them home, rather than make the kid walk the rest of the way.

"Do you always do that?" Sunshine suddenly asked him.

"Do what?"

"Hide your kindness behind a facade of selfishness."

'He might as well learn the truth sooner or later…'

"How poetic. No, Sunshine, the fact of the matter is I'm a selfish asshole who would like nothing more than to take you home right now and fuck your brains out."

The idea that sex was an actual possibility seemed to throw the kid. His face paled.

"So, I guess you really are expecting sex then." He sounded helpless and frightened.

"Well, shit, Sunshine, I'm not forcing you into anything."

"But — I mean …"

"Look, no need to bang for roof. You can just crash at my place tonight if that's all you want."

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

Now wasn't the time. Brian wasn't even sure he wanted to explain himself at all. But the truth was he sympathized with the kid. More than he was willing to say.

"I don't require sex in exchange for decent human behavior. Well, sometimes." He smirked to ease the tension.

"Ah, I see."

"But I am always willing to participate."

Just saying as much out loud made Brian realize how very true it was. He locked the young man into a vice-like stare, bringing his face just inches from his own. He noticed the blonde shifted, not touching Brian's body but shaping itself just around it, ready.

Brian paused then. The young man was blushing profusely. Had he not been kissed before? It suddenly dawned on Brian that considering the kid's age, this was fairly possible. This train of thought was interrupted however, by a voice from close by.

It called out, "Justin? Justin Taylor?"

Brian turned, frustrated but unable to ignore the interruption. Beside them stood a middle-aged man, clearly straight, and clearly not a frequent patron of Liberty Avenue.

Sunshine looked up, his nervous, young nature suddenly gone. He looked as though he were ready for a fight. Brian saw his jaw tighten, his stance firm up, his muscles contract. It was a fight or flight stance. This kid was ready to either make a break for it or punch the guy out.

"Yes?"

"Officer Horvath, Pittsburgh P.D." The man flashed his badge as validation. "You want to come talk to me for a minute?"

"Not particularly."

Brian was slightly taken aback by Justin's sudden coldness. It was as though someone had flipped the lights off. It was … impressive.

"Well, son, I'm not really giving you an option."

Justin resigned to folding his arms and shifting his weight from one leg to the other. He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

Officer Horvath didn't break his stare, clearly up for the challenge. "I understand you left home tonight."

"That's right." Justin's voice was steely.

"Well, your dad is looking for you. He wants you to come home. He called us as soon as you left, and we've been searching for you for a few hours."

"Oh really?" Justin was staring daggers now. "Did he do that before or after he sobered up? I'm eighteen. Legally, you can't make me go anywhere. I have every right to be out if I want to."

"Do you have some I.D. to prove that? Your dad tells us you're seventeen."

At this, Justin scoffed. "Only because he doesn't remember when my birthday is."

But he pulled his wallet from his back pocket regardless and handed the cop a small laminated card.

Horvath examined it. He pulled a flashlight from inside his jacket pocket and held the card under the light staring, squinting. He flipped the card over a few times, twisting it this way and that in the light.

Brian realized his fists were clenched, so he slid them casually into his jacket pockets and was grateful to find a pack of cigarettes waiting for him. He decidedly pulled one out and lit it to calm his nerves. He wasn't sure exactly why he was so tense, but he knew he certainly didn't want to watch this kid get hauled away, especially back to what sounded like a shitty home life. If there was one thing Brian understood it was a shitty home life.

Horvath handed Justin his I.D. without a word. This seemed to be the only confirmation he was going to give.

"And you, sir?" He shined the light on Brian who held a hand up to block it from his eyes. "Do you have some I.D.?"

"What for?"

Horvath simply held out his hand.

Brian sighed, pulling his license from his own wallet and handing it to the officer.

"Brian Kinney." Horvath read aloud. Then he looked up at Brian, clearly judgmental. "What is a twenty-nine year old man, doing with an eighteen year old runaway?"

"Well, I was hoping to fuck him, but you're sort of killing the mood, officer."

Horvath looked disgusted, but said nothing. Legally, there was nothing he could do. Brian smirked at this.

"Well, regardless of the fact that I can't _make_ you, I highly _suggest_ you go home, Mr. Taylor. You may be eighteen, but you're still just a kid. You shouldn't be out this time of night, especially with someone like Mr. Kinney here."

"Ah, but our chariot awaits!" Brian announced as the cab he had called for earlier pulled up to the curb.

Justin smiled at Brian then, a blindingly brilliant smile. Brian's chest tightened a little at the sight of him. He opened the door and Justin slid into the cab without another glance at the cop.

"Officer," Brian nodded sarcastically, before following in after Justin.

As they pulled away, Justin turned over and raised a middle finger victoriously at the back window of the car, and Brian joined him. They watched Horvath's face turn various shades of purple as they drove farther and farther away, and Horvath shrank smaller and smaller into the night.

Justin hunched over and clutched his stomach in laughter, tears welling up in his eyes. He was so bright, so beautiful that Brian couldn't help but join him. The kid's golden nature was nothing less than infectious.

"Y-you know — you know w-what the best p-part i-is?" Justin laughed, gasping for air.

Brian couldn't remember the last time he grinned so widely, "What?"

"I _am_ seventeen. This is a fucking fake I.D. I use to buy cigarettes!"

They were both laughing then, hard. Brian watched Justin's face as he struggled to catch his breath.

'_Sunshine …'_ He thought again on just how perfect the name was.

Justin's laughter slowed when he realized Brian had fallen silent. He was staring at Justin, his gaze locking the young man in again.

And reaching up, Brian took Justin's face into his hands and kissed him, gently at first, then vehemently. Justin was like fresh air, soft and cool. He ran his fingers into his blonde hair and pulled him closer. He could feel the young man's heart fluttering against his own chest. It was then that he knew they couldn't get back to the loft fast enough.


	3. Empathy

_a/n: Wow! This chapter really kicked my ass. I was purposefully very particular about what I wanted to portray through this scene, and as a result, it took me much longer than I intended. I hope it was worth the wait! (Also, I started back at school this month and SCAD takes no prisoners.) So without further ado,_

_Enjoy!_

THREE

Empathy

"So do you want a drink?"

Justin lingered nervously in the doorway of Brian's loft, his hands fidgeting with a loose thread at the bottom of his shirt. Inside, Brian was leaning forward onto the sleek, stainless-steel counter top watching him, a small smirk playing his features as though he found Justin's hesitation amusing.

"Hey."

Justin's head jerked up.

"Close the door."

Slightly dazed, Justin obeyed. His hands were trembling, and he wondered vaguely if Brian had noticed.

"Do I scare you, Sunshine?"

"No," Justin answered automatically, and he realized this was almost true. He took a step toward the kitchen and mimicked Brian's posture by leaning onto the counter, directly across from him.

"Then how about a drink?"

"Sure."

"Any preference?"

Justin shrugged. "I don't drink very much, so it's up to you."

Brian combed through the various bottles gathered to one side of the countertop and decidedly poured two whiskeys, handing one to Justin. Eager to calm his nerves, Justin took it gratefully.

Brian clinked his glass against Justin's, before throwing back his drink. Justin watched Brian, then mimicked him. He coughed a little at the burning sensation as their glasses hit the counter.

"Another?"

Justin cleared his throat. "Sure."

As Brian was refilling his glass, Justin added, "I like your kitchen."

Brian looked up at him through his lashes as he drained his own glass of amber-colored liquid. He nodded vaguely, but seemed to be trying to communicate something with his eyes.

After taking the next drink Brian poured, Justin started to feel a little tingly, maybe even lightheaded. He thought on why he liked the whiskey so much, what it reminded him of, and realized it was Brian's voice, smooth and warm.

"Thanks for helping me, back there, I mean. I don't know what I would have done tonight if I had to talk to that cop on my own. If I'd had nowhere to go he probably would have put me in his car and _made _me go home."

Brian snickered, observing the glass in his own hand. "That cop was such a cock-knob. The look on his face as we drove off was especially priceless."

Justin held his glass out to Brian, who obliged by refilling it. A sense of camaraderie was quickly developing between them. Of course, large amounts of alcohol consumption tended to do that.

"You were pretty impressive there Sunshine. For a minute, I thought you were going to punch him out and make a break for it."

"Thought about it."

Brian pursed his lips in what Justin thought might have been approval.

"So, what can we expect next on Sunshine's Excellent Adventure?"

Justin shrugged again. "To be honest, I didn't do much planning. I kind of left spur of the moment."

Brian took a sip from his glass, then pointed to Justin's face. "After somebody smacked you." It wasn't a question.

Justin touched his own cheek lightly, and immediately felt the sting. He laughed suddenly, the alcohol really starting to take its effect. "Shit, that's nothing."

Without missing a beat, he lifted his shirt to show Brian where Craig had kicked him and the bruise now forming across his ribs. Brian's face contorted, and he inhaled sharply.

Placing his drink onto the counter, Brian worked his way around to Justin, observing the blue and purple injury with an unreadable expression.

Immediately Brian turned to the fridge where he pulled out an ice pack. He wrapped it in a towel and wordlessly pinched the front of Justin's shirt between his thumb and forefinger, pulling him lightly by the fabric over to the couch.

"Take off your shirt and lie down."

A blush crept into Justin's cheeks, and he tried to hide it by asking, "You do this for all the guys you bring home?"

Brian raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, waiting. Clearly, the sight of Justin's injury had struck a serious chord in him. All traces of humor where now gone.

His blush deepening, Justin gingerly removed his worn gray t-shirt and lay back onto the modern, white sofa. Brian was uncharacteristically tender as he seated himself onto the floor next to Justin and applied the ice pack to his bruise. On contact, Justin inhaled sharply. Brian's eyes flickered up.

"It's cold." Justin explained.

He stared at Brian who's gaze had returned to Justin's ribs. His face was just inches away, the angular features now wrapped in a rosy glow, thanks to the whiskey.

"You're actually beautiful, you know that?" He found himself saying suddenly.

This seemed to lift Brian's mood a bit. He coughed a snicker.

"I'm serious!"

Brian smirked down at him. "And you're right. You're also drunk."

"Maybe a little…"

"Shit, who knew you were such a fucking lightweight?"

Justin chuckled lightly. "I definitely didn't inherit my dad's talent for drinking."

A pained expression crossed Brian's usual smug face. It was brief, only a shadow that passed over and was gone, but Justin was sure he saw it.

"He wasn't always so bad." Justin offered, trying to soothe what he thought may have been pity. "The worst of it started after my mom died. He … blames me."

He huffed out a humorless laugh as tears threatened to sting his eyes.

Brian said nothing, but his eyes defocused, looking away from Justin. Clearly, emotions made Brian extremely uncomfortable.

"Why the fuck are you telling me all of this?" Brian broke in quickly. Though the words were harsh, his voice was low.

At first, Justin couldn't answer him. Maybe it was because it was just easier to tell painful secrets to strangers, rather than friends. Maybe it was because Brian, despite his haughty attitude and general air of being an asshole, had actually been very kind to Justin.

Or maybe it was just the alcohol making him spill his guts.

"My dad says that … if I wasn't gay, my mom would still be alive."

He fell silent then, fighting the tightness in his throat. Though almost three years had passed, the pain was just as sharp when he recalled her death. When he continued, his voice was unsteady.

"Right after I came out, my mom started taking me to this therapist who recommended she start going to PFLAG meetings at the Gay and Lesbian Center. She was on her way there when…" Justin paused taking a shaky breath, then continued, "…her car got t-boned and wrapped around a tree. Then my dad was kind enough to spell it out for me. That it was my fault."

Tears welled up in Justin's eyes then. He quickly turned his face away from Brian, toward the back of the couch.

"Shit …" he muttered, wiping his eyes, "fucking whiskey."

Justin could feel Brian's gaze on him. He was surprised when he heard Brian's voice, not agitated or reprimanding, but almost gentle.

"Sunshine," he began quietly, but firmly. "Listen to me. Are you listening?"

Justin nodded, but was too embarrassed by his own tears to turn his face back toward Brian.

"Who you prefer to fuck never killed anyone, much less your mother. Your father's an asshole who doesn't know shit. Understand?"

These last words came out a little harsher than perhaps Brian had intended.

Justin turned back to Brian with a soft smile, though he was sure his eyes were still a little red.

"I guess that's why I've never… _been_ with anyone." He was certain that Brian could decipher his meaning, though he was too timid to check his expression. "I've always felt too guilty. Like it would be killing her all over again."

Brian removed the ice pack, leaving it on the coffee table. They locked eyes then.

"Is that why you always look scared shitless every time I mention fucking you?"

"More or less." Justin mumbled.

This turn of topic made Justin eager to get the attention off of himself.

After pausing a moment he said, "All right. I shared _my_ sob story, now it's your turn."

Brian's eyes immediately widened. Something in his expression briefly exposed some hidden vulnerability before a smooth mask of nonchalance overtook it.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" He asked cooly, and there was an edge to his voice.

Justin perched himself up on to his elbow and leaned in toward Brian who for the first time, leaned back slightly in response.

"No one is this nice to a stranger unless they empathize with them. You know what empathy is?"

"Yes, I know what it is. I attended middle school."

Justin ignored him and leaned in again. This time, Brian held his ground, but his gaze flickered toward Justin's lips before meeting his eyes.

"It's the ability to understand and share the feelings of another through experience."

"Thank you, Webster. What's your point?"

"I think you empathize with me. That's why you're being so nice to me — and don't say it's just because you want to fuck me." Justin interrupted as Brian began to open his mouth.

Justin then added, "I think sex is a cover for you. It's a simple, but believable explanation for your motives. It's your weapon of choice."

Brian blinked at him dumbly. Then, "How could you know that?"

Obviously, it was meant to brush off Justin's comment, but instead came across with a distinct edge of incredulity.

Justin suddenly felt the need to touch him, just to touch Brian and soothe away the expression of — was it fear? — now plaguing his too-perfect features. He smiled warmly. Reaching tentatively, he lightly ran his thumb over Brian's arched eyebrow, smoothing his expression. Brian seemed to flinch slightly at the tender touch, but he didn't pull back. His lids appeared all at once heavy. They fluttered closed as Justin's fingers ran over his temple, his cheek, his angular jaw. Brian was now breathing heavily through is nose, eyes still closed.

"I think …" Justin began hesitantly, letting his fingertips brush over Brian's lips which parted slightly on contact, "I'm figuring out how to read you. I think you aren't so bad as you try to make people believe you are."

Suddenly, Brian snatched Justin's wrist hastily, pulling it away from his face. His eyes shot open and bored into Justin's, gleaming with some unidentifiable sentiment as they flickered back and forth. Justin stared back at him, unmoving. He could feel the inner conflict emanating from Brian's furrowed expression, but couldn't quite tell just what it was.

"I'm —…" Brian began hoarsely. He cleared his throat and looked away from Justin, his fingers still gripping Justin's wrist.

It seemed even Brian didn't know what he wanted to say. So Justin waited patiently, holding as still as he could, worried he may startle Brian out of his train of thought, or break the physical contact he still seemed to be unaware of.

Finally his expression hardened. Brian removed his hand from Justin and spat, "I'm not some god-damned case study. And your not my shrink. If you want to psychoanalyze someone, become a fucking therapist."

_Touchy_.

Brian came to his feet and snatched the ice pack from the table before storming back over to the freezer and throwing it in. He slammed the door shut and came to lean on the counter once again, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

Justin knew better than to say anything. He sat up carefully and watched Brian cautiously from the couch. He didn't quite feel threatened, just tense, apologetic that he had made Brian so uncomfortable, so … _defensive. _He knew what evoked such a passionate guard. He knew better than most.

Pain.

He wanted to apologize verbally, but Brian's '_sorry is bullshit_' policy kept him from opening his mouth. Finally Brian seemed to exhale off his reaction and, hands on his hips in an attempt to appear casual, slowly padded around the kitchen, but his lips were rolled inward as though he were slightly ashamed. He didn't look at Justin as he began what seemed like preparations to make coffee, as though it were why he'd gone to the kitchen to begin with.

"I shouldn't have prodded you like that." Justin stated matter-of-factly. "It's none of my business."

Brian shrugged with a cool air of nonchalance, pouring coffee grounds into a filter.

Every movement was smooth and graceful. Justin was struck once again by just how beautiful this man was. His long, lithe torso was accentuated by his lean, muscular arms. Justin came to his feet and crossed over to the kitchen. Brian eyed him a little warily, but made no move to leave.

"I'm sorry," Justin offered at last. "I've just ... never met anyone who might know what I'm going through, you know?"

Brian nodded once curtly, looking down at Justin, his face impassive. Their height difference was considerable. Justin himself was only about five foot eight, while Brian had to be well over six feet tall. Rather than being intimidating however, Brian's size was instead all encompassing, beauty and power. Justin found himself further appreciating the grace of his body, and that it could, given the opportunity, envelop him entirely like a warm blanket of taut muscle and bronzed skin. He wondered what that would feel like.

"Forget it." Brian told him flatly, like a period at the end of a sentence, as he closed the lid of the coffee maker a little forcibly. It was done. Subject closed.

"Do you want some help?" He offered. And upon seeing Brian's expression, he hastily added. "With the coffee, I mean."

Something lifted then in the atmosphere between them, dispersing a little of the tension. Brian's expression warmed and he smirked at Justin.

"I think I can handle it, Sunshine."

Even just a few hours ago hiding and desperate in his bedroom, imagining all the places he might go, Justin never would have dreamed that he would end up here, standing shirtless and vulnerable in a gorgeous stranger's expensive kitchen. Though his information was limited, he truly felt he had some common ground with Brian. And judging from his reaction to Justin's injuries, Brian clearly knew what it was like have the shit beat out of him.

A sudden image of some faceless person laying hands on Brian's lissome, elegant body, hurting him, made Justin feel a little queasy. The urge to somehow comfort him nearly overwhelmed Justin. He could see Brian in many of the scenarios he had once been in himself, huddled, tearful and terrified. How many times had he wished someone would be there to just touch him gently and tell him everything was going to be okay?

Justin remembered, only moments ago, how Brian had crumpled so easily in his hands at a tender touch. When was the last time Brian had been touched gently? _Lovingly?_

Cautiously, Justin took a step forward. He could see Brian tense immediately.

"Brian?"

Brian held his ground, but he was clearly trying to read Justin's expression. He studied him with narrowed eyes.

"Yes, Sunshine?"

"Can I … touch you?"

Brian simply blinked at him.

Finally, "What?"

"I'd like to touch you, if that's all right."

He waited patiently for Brian to consent. At last, though his face was still puzzled, Brian nodded once.

The smell of fresh coffee began to waft through the kitchen as slowly, being sure to keep eye contact, Justin raised a hand and lightly brushed the back of it along Brian's cheekbone. Once again, Brian's eyes immediately closed, and his breathing grew heavy.

Slowly, lightly, Justin cupped his hand around Brian's neck. Very gently, he pulled him down to whisper in his ear.

"I'm not going to hurt you."

And though Brian's eyes remained closed, his breathing slowed a bit.

Justin slid his other hand over Brian's chest and brought the two together to unbutton the top button on the black fabric. He ran his fingers over the now exposed collarbones in turn, before undoing the remainder of the buttons. Brian held perfectly still as Justin glided both hands down his now bare, sculpted chest, marveling at its definition, and down over Brian's lean stomach. God, he really was perfect.

As his fingers lightly brushed the little trail of hair on his navel, Justin felt a shiver run through Brian.

"Should I stop?"

Brian shook his head, but said nothing, eyes still closed. Justin resumed his ministrations by sliding Brian's shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

Standing up on his toes, Justin lightly kissed Brian just under his jaw and down his neck before at last taking his face in is hands and pressing his lips fully to Brian's. The kiss began soft and sweet. Brian reached up to run his fingers through Justin's hair, before lightly grazing his tongue along Justin's lower lip, seeking entrance. Hesitantly, Justin obliged, parting his lips ever so slightly, allowing Brian to explore his mouth delicately with the tip of his tongue. They both kept their eyes open, gazing at each other.

Justin pulled back, but Brian pushed forward, trying to capture his lips again. When Justin resisted, Brian settled for pressing his forehead against Justin's.

"What?" He asked in a low murmur. "What's wrong?"

For the first time, Justin broke eye contact, his gaze drifting off to one side. He could feel the blush radiating through his face.

"I … I want you to do something … for me."

Justin felt hands slip up over his chest, his neck, and settle there, the thumbs lightly running over his jawline. Brian was waiting.

"Tell me," Brian's voice was low, husky, and thick with lust, but there was something else there too. Only, Justin was afraid to try and label it.

Gathering all his courage, Justin at last whispered, "Touch yourself."

Even in his peripheral vision, Justin could see the eyebrow shoot up and disappear into Brian's hair.

"I — I don't know if I can … _do _anything else. But … I want … _Something.. _With you." Justin confessed with much difficulty.

At last he chanced a glance in Brian's direction. There was no disgust or shock on Brian's face as he had expected. There was no annoyance or disappointment. Instead, there was simply that same expression of light amusement, maybe even curiosity, though it was all engulfed by a heavy shadow of desire.

Without another word, Brian pulled Justin lightly, just as had before by a small section of fabric on his shirt. They took a few steps toward the bedroom before Justin halted.

"Wait." He said quietly.

Brian paused, blinking down at him.

Justin turned to pick up Brian's discarded shirt from the floor and pressed it to his chest before at last returning.

"Ready."

He followed Brian up the stairs and stood anxiously at the foot of the bed, still clutching Brian's black button-down against him.

Brian began to unfasten his pants, nodding toward the mattress. "Sit down," he told Justin.

Justin obeyed, his eyes never tearing away from Brian's face. He could feel himself trembling harder than ever, all comfort he had gained from the whiskey proved to be useless.

"I want you to lie back against the pillows. Get comfortable. You can sit up if that helps."

Nodding, Justin slid himself across the mattress and leaned back against the headboard.

"Get in the center of the bed." Brian told him.

Justin did as he was told, propping himself up with the soft, silver pillow to his left.

"Now," Brian breathed quietly, pulling down the zipper of his pants. "Keep your eyes on me."

He crawled then onto the bed and sat back on his heels at Justin's feet. He pulled his jeans down just below his hips, at last exposing himself and his arousal. Justin's eyes widened, but he did not look away. Something about obeying Brian made him feel safer, more at ease.

Justin pressed the fabric of Brian's shirt to his nose. It smelled of warm spice, with just a hint of a woodsy musk. His fingers tightened on the fabric as his eyes locked with Brian.

Brian reached down and lightly ran his fingers over his erection, teasing himself. His lips were parted, his lids heavy, but open. He began to stroke himself, slowly at first but with increasing speed. Justin's heart was thudding loudly in his ears, his face, all obscured but his eyes, buried deeply in Brian's shirt. The scent was comforting, already familiar as it filled the loft along with the smell of their forgotten coffee. He couldn't help but memorize every detail of the scene around him, Brian's face, the feel of the soft, Egyptian cotton sheets against his toes as they began to curl. Could he — _would_ he really come, just from watching Brian's face? He felt what he felt, knew what it was like to feel that heat uncoil in his stomach and build and build until exploding with brilliance and ecstasy.

Brian seemed to read Justin's expression, his heavy breathing. His fingers slowed. "Are you going to come for me, Sunshine?"

Justin blushed profusely, pulling his knees up to his chest, burying his face more and more into Brian's shirt.

"Drop it." Brian ordered, though his tone was not harsh. His breath hitched a little as his speed began to increase again. "I wanna see your face."

Slowly, Justin lowered the black fabric away from himself.

"You're young." Brian whispered in a husky voice. "And you're so hard. I can see it. Come on, you can do it. Come for me. Just look at me, and come."

Justin felt suddenly bold, heat flooding through him, pressure building as he studied Brian's increasing pleasure. Softly he whispered,"Say my name … please."

Brian blinked at him, slowing to an almost complete stop. Though he was clearly on the edge, Justin could see he was holding himself off.

"My real name, it's Justin."

Brian scooted forward and settled himself between Justin's knees. He began stroking himself again, this time rapidly. He leaned down, their breaths mingled. And looking directly into Justin's eyes, he whispered.

"Justin."

And they came. Brian had not even touched Justin, but his breath hitched the second he heard Brian say his name. His vision went white and his was falling into a blissful abyss. Brian poured heat onto Justin's bare stomach, moaning, low and soft.

Leaning forward, Justin very lightly took Brian's face in his hands. Brian rested his forehead against Justin's his breath still heavy. His hands came to rest on Justin's knees.

"Thank you," Justin breathed. "Wow, who knew empathy could feel so good?"

Brian smirked at him, running his hands down Justin's thighs.


	4. Third Wheel

FOUR

Third Wheel

Brian Kinney awoke stretched across the width of his bed. A hangover was coiled to spring behind the muted pounding in his temples, and he grudgingly accepted his fate. Eyes fluttering open, he could immediately tell by the angle of the light from the windows it was afternoon. God, he'd slept half the fucking day away. It wasn't long before the light made his head begin to throb painfully. He needed coffee.

He tried to sit up, but soon realized there was an arm locked around his bare waist. Someone was curled against his back, breathing lightly and pressing a cheek to his spine. Brian wasn't really one for sleepovers, and for a moment, he had to work to remember who the fuck was in his bed. Then he remembered Sunshine, that kid from the night before. He seemed to have buried himself between Brian's shoulder blades. What was his name?

_Justin._

The name siphoned hazy memories from Brian's groggy mind: a porcelain face, flushed pink with a mix of pleasure and timidity, blue eyes widening in surprise at every new experience.

Brian rolled over carefully to face him, and as a result, Justin pulled himself a little closer into Brian's chest. He looked at him then. This kid looked exhausted, like he hadn't really slept in years. How old was he? Seventeen, he'd said. By the look of him, he has lived years beyond that.

Brian sat up and Justin reached out with his now empty arms, his expression furrowing a bit. Brian felt a slight twinge of guilt, though he wasn't quite sure why. He didn't even like sleeping with someone else. Sex was one thing, sleeping was another, and Brian almost always kicked tricks out when he was done with them. But something was different this time. It wasn't simply that this kid couldn't even really be called a trick. (Despite their mutual orgasms, Brian hadn't touched Justin.) It was that Brian found himself wanting to lie back down, and wrap himself up in this not entirely unwanted guest.

_Enough_.

Before he knew it, Brian was on his feet, making a beeline for the kitchen. As he moved, he felt a looseness in his jeans and realized they were still unfastened from the night before. He tried to make sense of how he and Justin had wound up lying the wrong way across the bed, sleeping wrapped up together. Brian doesn't cuddle. He must have passed out, and that kid curled up into him while he was asleep. God, why did people have to get so god-damned _lesbianic_, post coitus. He was drunk; he came; he passed out. That was it.

So why did the little sighs of breath in the next room make him feel so, well, _not alone?_ It didn't matter. The kid would be gone soon, on his way to some other hiding spot, or maybe back home. Brian didn't care. It didn't affect him either way.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door to the loft. Brian absent-mindedly refastened his pants as he went to answer it.

The door slid open and Michael's smiling face was beaming up at him, his arms full of what appeared to be brown, paper grocery bags.

"Hey there." He leaned in and kissed Brian without waiting for an answer. "I thought we could have dinner before we head to Babylon tonight."

_Fuck_.

"What time is it?" Brian asked pulling the door shut as Michael went into the kitchen.

Michael placed the grocery bags onto the kitchen island and began pulling ingredients from them.

"It's only five, but I thought I'd cook for us tonight. You know, do something a little different."

He glanced at Brian, then did a double take. He seemed to take in his disheveled appearance for the first time.

"You look like shit."

Brian paused, then smirked, making his way into the kitchen and throwing an arm around Michael's shoulders. "Fuck you, too." He kissed his cheek.

"God! and you stink! Bad night?"

"Nope." Brian let his lips pop a little on the 'p.' "Very good night, in fact. The problem is now I'm pretty fucking hungover."

"I thought you would be." Michael smiled brightly, clearly proud of himself. "And I've got the perfect cure right here. Everything we need to make 'The Elvis.'"

Brian pinched the bridge of his nose and chanced a glance toward the bedroom. Justin was still lying there, but his eyes were open, and he was holding Brian's discarded shirt from the night before again, just pressing it to his face. He seemed to be breathing it in. Something about that made Brian's chest ache a little.

"What the fuck is 'The Elvis?'" He tried to sound interested, but he and Justin were staring intently at one another.

"It's a sandwich The King himself used to eat. Peanut butter, banana, honey and bacon, all between two buttery, toasted pieces of bread. Fat, carbs, sugar and salt. Everything a man needs to cure a hangover."

"What, did you clip the recipe out of _Southern Living_? I'm not hungry."

Michael closed his eyes and seemed to sigh with irritation. "Too bad. I bought all this shit and brought it over here. So you're just going to have to eat it and like it. Besides, it'll make you feel better."

Brian's shoulders fell a little, and he sighed. He ran his hand through his hair before at last saying, "Well, in that case, I hope you have enough for one more."

"What do you mean"

Brian nodded wordlessly toward the bedroom and noticed that Justin had his eyes closed once again. Then he saw exactly what he had expected to see. Michael's eyes narrowed and his posture went rigid.

"What the _fuck_ is he still doing here?"

Brian shrugged, looking down at his hands as he fiddled with an empty glass from the night before on the counter.

"Didn't you get enough last night?"

Brian shook his head. "We didn't fuck."

One look at Michael, and Brian knew this bothered him more than anything.

"He had nowhere to go."

Michael's face paled and his voice became hushed. "So what is this then? Foster care? Fucking 'Adopt a trick'?"

"So what was I supposed to do, Michael? Let him sleep on the street?"

"Plenty of people do that every night, and you never give a shit."

"Those people aren't fucking seventeen-year-olds."

"And just because you ran away from home when _you_ were seventeen doesn't mean you have to take care of someone else who does. He made his own god-damned bed. Let him lie in it. Not yours."

"You didn't feel that way when you took me in, Mikey." Brian answered quietly.

Brian looked at Justin and saw his eyes shoot open and pierce him with understanding.

_Double fuck._

Michael's expression had softened a bit. "That was different."

They looked at each other for a moment that seemed to stretch into what neither could express with words. Brian had known that Michael was in love with him when he showed up on the Novotnys' doorstep twelve years ago, asking to 'just stay the night.' He knew Michael and Debbie were more his family than his own. And he knew that to this day, Michael was still in love with him and was waiting to be reciprocated.

But Brian didn't do love. He didn't do relationships. Relationships were the whole fucked up reason he'd gone to live with Michael in the first place. Life with his parents had shown him that a long term commitment based on romantic bullshit was just asking for misery and pain, and Brian was never going back to that again.

He decided to break the tension first, "Hey, Sunshine, you hungry?"

Michael's nostrils flared at the nickname. Brian made a distinct effort to ignore him.

Justin raised his head slowly from the mattress, his hair was flattened on one side, his body looked soft and pliant. He seemed to glow even in the cool blue light of the bedroom. Brian found himself suddenly wishing Michael were gone. The kid padded into the kitchen, gazing cautiously at Michael, then Brian. He'd heard Brian's secret, and he was waiting for the backlash. However, Brian decided the best tactic was to pretend nothing had been said at all. Maybe that way, Sunshine would just keep his mouth shut and not ask any questions.

"Are you sure it's all right if I have some?" He was talking to Brian, but he was looking at Michael who glared back at him in response.

Brian played off the tension with a smirk, "Come on, Sunshine. Even Mikey wouldn't make you sit here and go hungry while we stuffed our faces." And he threw his arm affectionately over Michael's shoulders once again.

Justin nodded timidly and seated himself onto a stool at the counter. Michael responded by turning his back to him and angrily pulling pans from the cabinets and slamming the doors. Brian crossed then to spin Justin's chair around and stand between his knees. He reached up to smooth down the blond hair, still crumpled on one side. Justin sighed and leaned into Brian's hand in response.

"What is Babylon?" Justin asked him with wide, innocent eyes.

Brian dropped his hand to rest it on Justin's thigh.

"It's a club." He answered simply.

Michael scoffed. "More like the center of Pittsburgh's gay culture. How does he not know that?" He was clearly only going to talk to Brian. "How old is he anyway? Can he even get in?"

Ignoring Michael, Sunshine lit up like his namesake. "You mean like with dancing?"

Brian nodded once.

"So you and I could dance together?"

The brightness in this kid's expression was almost heartbreakingly lovely. His adoration for Brian and for the idea of doing anything with him at all made something in Brian's chest tighten.

"So I guess you're coming tonight?" Michael asked bitterly over his shoulder.

Justin looked at Brian who only raised an eyebrow in response.

"Only if Brian wants me to come." He answered, suddenly timid again.

Brian's smirk tilted, "Oh, I definitely want him to come."

They locked eyes briefly, and Justin immediately blushed at the double meaning in Brian's words. Michael didn't seem to catch it, or at least, pretended not to.

…

Brian was impressed by how much food the kid could put away as soon as he got the green light. The plate of sandwiches had barely hit the counter before he had one in each hand, alternating bites between the two. He didn't even wait to finish chewing one before he took another. Brian couldn't help but suspect that it had been a while since this kid had had a decent meal.

It was too early to go to Babylon, so they stopped off at Woody's first. Since Justin's I.D. said he was only eighteen, he was allowed in, but only after he'd been marked with a red 'x' on each hand.

"We need to get you a new card, Sunshine," Brian said absent-mindedly as he sat down at the booth. He had two beers and gave one to Michael who shot him a look. He realized then the implications behind what he's just said, that Justin would be around long enough to _need_ a new I.D.

He shrugged then, trying to play if off as though it had nothing to do with him.

"Now that your out on your own, you'll probably want to look a little less juvenile." He nodded to the markings on the back of Justin's hands.

Michael snorted as he lifted his beer to his lips, "There's no way anyone would buy that he's twenty-one. That blonde hair, those baby-blues, honestly, he looks fourteen."

Justin blushed and looked down at his folded hands. But then he surprised Brian by muttering, "At least when I'm older, I'll still have my looks."

Micheal's responding glare oozed hostility.

"So, Mikey," Brian rested an arm around his friend's shoulders along the back of the booth, "regale us by sharing your splendid adventures at the Big Q today."

It was Michael's turn to shrug, but the attention from Brian seemed to have temporarily soothed him, "I saw Mel and Linds today. They were doing some last minute shopping." At last Michael cracked a smile, "Lindsay's getting pretty big. Should be any day now."

"What should be?" Justin asked curiously.

Michael's face fell, "None of your fucking business."

"Mikey," Brian murmured, "Calm your tits."

"My tits are fine as they are, thanks. And you have to admit this kid seems pretty fucking entitled to our personal business."

At the word 'our,' Brian raised an eyebrow. Michael fell back, slightly abashed.

Coming to his feet Michael then announced, "I gotta piss," before stalking off.

"It was just a question," Justin muttered once he was out of earshot.

Brian lightly tapped the back of Justin's hand with his knuckle, "Forget it."

Justin bit his lip then, seeming to consider something. Then he asked, "So how long has Michael been in love with you?"

_Perceptive little shit._

The beer bottle had only just reached Brian's lips before he lowered it again. He eyed Justin sideways, "Careful, Sunshine, now you really are pushing it."

"Sorry." It seemed genuine. "It's just he's very …" and he seemed to consider his words more carefully this time, "sensitive."

At this, Brian coughed a snicker. He knew what words must have run through Justin's head, words like, 'possessive,' and 'defensive,' but he decided to cut Mikey some slack. They really had been like a couple for years now, in every sense but one, the one Michael was still hoping for.

As though reading his mind, Justin asked, "Feel free to not answer this. But have you guys ever…?" He let the question hang.

Brian took a moment to roll his lips inward before answering. He wasn't used to sex being such a taboo subject, but after everything they'd said and done the night before, sex suddenly carried a whole new weight. And to Brian, this was bizarre, maybe even a little unsettling.

He decided to answer vaguely, "We fooled around some when we were kids, but never anything real."

An unfinished hand-job wasn't 'real,' right? Brian felt a little unsure as to what counted as sex in this particular conversation.

"Brian."

He was broken out of his train of thought by Justin's soft voice. He was leaning forward across the table, looking very seriously into Brian's eyes.

"You can be honest. Do you want me to leave?"

Where the fuck was _this_ coming from?

"Let me rephrase that. _Should _I leave?"

When Brian just blinked at him, Justin bit his lip, then explained, "If I'm messing something up here — even just friendship — I don't think I could forgive myself."

He seemed to really mean it. And Brain wasn't quite sure how to respond to that. Brian's mentality of 'every man for himself' couldn't cope with this selfless offer.

"You decide where you want to be," he answered at last.

The look on Justin's face was perplexed, but he didn't have time to respond before Michael slid back into the booth beside Brian, bringing with him Ted and Emmett. They slid in next to Justin, and Brain groaned inwardly. The last thing he needed was an inquisition.

"He_llo, _who's this dreamboat?" Emmett purred, eyeing Justin.

Ted furrowed his brow, "Aren't you that kid from the diner last night?"

Justin nodded, his face tinting at the attention.

Brian gestured back and forth, "Sunshine, the boys. Boys, Sunshine."

"Justin." Justin corrected softly.

They introduced themselves in turn.

"Ted."

"Emmett. And what a pleasure it is." Brian caught his wink out of the corner of his eye.

He was surprised when he felt a slight impulse to kick Emmett under the table.

"So, is it the usual tonight? Babylon and banging boys?" Ted inquired lifting the beer he had brought with him to his lips.

Brian had drained the last of his own with one hand, and reached over and snagged Ted's before he could sip it with the other. Ted looked at him with tolerant irritation before standing to go order another.

"I thought we might do something a little different." Brian mused.

Michael raised one eyebrow in a way Brain recognized. "And just what might that be?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of something _recreational._"

He pulled the little tabs of E from the pocket of his jeans.

"You're getting totally shit-faced tonight, aren't you?" And though his tone was reprimanding, Michael was smiling. Clearly, Michael found Brian returning to old habits comforting.


End file.
